Self Divided

If I say to myself, “I hate myself for doing that,” or “If only could have done differently,” or “I’m not that sort of person,” (perhaps all self-referential statements), I assume that there are two of me (at least.).

And this seems kinda weird.

If there are two of me (at least), then which one is the real me? Can I be allowed to designate in all cases? I mean, can I always pick the one that, in retrospect, I would choose for myself?

And what the fuck does “in retrospect” mean, anyway?

It’s comments like that which open up the dialogue, and in doing so, demonstrate the two-self hypothesis admirably.

On the other hand, if we didn’t get to notice to ourselves how gorgeous a day it was we wouldn’t remember, would we?

Clearly, being of “two minds” about something is what makes us conscious. “Consciousness,” then, just means self-awareness.

And self-awareness assumes, by its very nature, two selves (at least).

Does my dog know that it’s a dog? It probably knows its place in the world much more closely than I do.

Well, no less so, anyway.

And probably way more.

I have tasks, though, that I set before me. Does she? Is she better or worse for having or not having them?

It’s also seems kinda weird to have the same sort of divided-self feelings in relation to one’s body. I do. It’s not that I’m not entirely sure whether I want my body to represent who I am in the world, it’s more like I look at my body and I’m not sure if that’s who I am.

Which means that if there’s a body and a mind and a mind, then there’s a body missing. So, maybe what love is is finding a body to put one of your minds into and when two people do that it’s a beautiful thing.

With three twenty-seven, it’s phenomenal, hah!

See the self-referential divide?